


erase and rewind

by destronomics



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 23:39:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destronomics/pseuds/destronomics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can you spare a few minutes to actually, you know, run your company?” She’s looking directly at the camera, holding up a sheaf of papers in one hand, wiping at the side of her mouth with the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	erase and rewind

When Tony Stark pulls himself out of the guts of the suit for the last time that day, Pepper Potts has been asleep on the couch for a total of five minutes, 43 seconds and—

“That’s enough Jarvis.”

“Sir.”

Wedged between the data widgets monitoring output from the suit, is the digitized image of his assistant, a hand thrown over her face, the laptop near a tucked foot, completely, utterly conked out. Rendered in miniature on the screen, she looks a little like a cartoon: the angular line of her suit dark against the fabric of the couch, exaggerating her outline and bringing her into focus.

She had an office on the second floor, but she said she liked how the sun hit the mansion in the afternoon, how it turned the ocean a bright orange when it set. Someone had to enjoy the view Tony paid so much for and didn’t ever seem to want to experience, the way he buried himself deep in his windowless lair.

“It has a skylight now. And don’t call it a ‘lair.’ ‘Batcave’ is an acceptable substitute, though.”

“Saran-wrapping the hole in your roof does not a skylight make, Tony. And you don’t pay me enough to call it ‘Batcave.’”

“But I totally could?”

She doesn’t sprain anything with that eyeroll but she makes a good effort. There’s also a smile, so he had considered it as close as he was going to get to breaking even.

Besides, that’s what a laptop was for, right? To be mobile. To sit and soak in some sun while she restructured his schedule for the fifth time in as many hours, _because honestly Tony, would it kill you to attend a meeting at least once on time? Or ever? Work with me here, pal._

And now she was snoring lightly, missing the view of the sun settling down behind her for the night.

“Tell Potts she can go home.”

“Yes, sir.”

He can tell when Jarvis delivers the message because Pepper wakes up with a less than graceful start that almost topples her laptop. It earns her a smile that she can’t see, but she’d probably label as patronizing if she could.

Her voice filters through the lab’s speakers a split second later.

“Can you spare a few minutes to actually, you know, run your company?” She’s looking directly at the camera, holding up a sheaf of papers in one hand, wiping at the side of her mouth with the other.

“Can’t you just—”

“No, I can’t forge your signature, Tony. Believe me, I would if I could.”

“Fine, get down here. But then you’re going home—”

“Tony—”

“You were drooling. It was cute.”

She tosses a dark look at the camera, but it gets interrupted by a sudden yawn, her hands involuntarily forming tiny little fists as it works its way through her body. “Fine. Fine. You win.”

“It’s just how I roll, Pep.”

She snorts at that, just loud enough for the camera to pick up, but she’s reaching for her laptop bag anyway. Slipping the machine in gently before drawing the zipper closed, Tony’s pretty sure he can see her smiling.

It’s been a long day, he thinks, so when she finally stands and has to do a little shimmy to get her skirt untwisted, he doesn’t stop himself from looking a little too long than she probably would have liked.

It’s not what the cameras are for, sure, but Tony’s always been a little resourceful.

**

The acoustics of the stairwell, paired with whatever Pepper was calling footwear these days, usually means that Tony can hear Pepper before he ever sees her. She told him she planned it that way, actually, so he could stop whatever he was doing with whomever, store any and all flammable materials properly away, and if he was being so kind, find a pair of pants. He had called her “snide,” she had preferred the term “cautious.”

From behind the glass she looks like her normal self, hair a little mussed, but normal; when she’s in front of it and the door is sliding shut behind her with a whisper, she just looks tired.

So he doesn’t put up much of a fight when the sheaf of papers she hands him is significantly larger than the one she had waved at him from the living room, figures it’s the least he can do. He does try and put it as politely as he can, though: “You’re a goddamn liar, Potts.”

She doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t even give him an eye-roll, and that’s how he knows it’s not just the lighting in the lab, making her look like that, and maybe he hasn’t really been helping, lately.

She pulls out a pen from her bag, sets it down at a worktable beside her, and points to the stool to her right, “Sit. Sign. Shut up.”

“In that order?” He tries for a grin, but it doesn’t seem to take.

She just tilts her head towards the desk to her right, and he decides it’s probably best to do what she says. He sits while Pepper stays standing, her right thigh resting against the edge by his elbow. When he signs, her hip fills his peripheral vision, and it shouldn’t be as distracting as it is.

It is very distracting.

This close he can see the faint pinstripe running along the cloth of her skirt, rumpled still, from where it had ridden up from before. It’s not brown, like he had thought, but a navy blue color that looked too formal for her normal routine; he thinks maybe he should look into upping the fidelity on the cameras; he thinks there’s something he might be missing.

He hears her sigh, and then the image of her hip wavers, and she puts a hand down heavily against the table, as if to steady herself.

From his angle, he cannot see her face but he’s pretty sure she’s pinching the bridge of her nose with her other hand, as if trying to stay awake long enough to make sure he doesn’t run away when she’s not looking. That she doesn’t trust him to do what he says he will isn’t new, that it makes her so tired lately, is.

He’s not sure how he feels about that.

“Tony. We need to talk.”

“Doesn’t that override the whole ‘shut up’ command you just—”

“Tony.”

“So you mean, you need to talk.”

“Tony.”

“I’m just trying to clarify where we stand here, Potts—”

” _Tony_.”

She puts her hand down, and despite it being just her regular hand and the regular table, the sound is startlingly loud. The tendons in her fingers stand out, and he shuts up.

“I can’t keep—” She starts, then stops, the hand on the table losing a bit of its rigidity as she seems to try to work out exactly what she wants to say. “You know you still have a company to run, right?” She’s painfully measured, like she has to be delicate with him, and he just stares at her, trying very hard at something resembling patience.

“Yes.”

The hand on the table lifts, pointing to the papers in his hand, “Do you even know what you’re signing? Do you have any idea what I just handed you?”

He looks down. It’s just words, a jumble of letters, some punctuation, but it doesn’t look any different from what she usually hands him. He flips through a few of the pages, tries to catch on. He looks back up at her, shrugs.

He waits for her to finish, but when she sighs again a few seconds later, he thinks that might be his cue to say something else, he’s just not sure what. So he just continues doing what he’s doing, like she asked: he’s sitting, he’s signing, he’s shutting up. When she’s ready, he’ll listen. He’ll try, at least.

By the thirtieth page (and no end in sight) even Pepper seems to be getting a little bored, and she pushes away from the table. He should be less distracted now that her hip is out of sight, but he’s not.

He doesn’t turn around to see where she’s going, trusting the sound of her heels against the cement to place her in the room while he continues to work: when she steps on a rope of bound wires the sound is softer; one of the many pieces of metal scattering the lab, a little sharp, but the rhythm is steady. She’s pacing.

By the fifth circuit it starts getting a little—

The sound of her heels stop. The only sound in the room for awhile is Pepper’s breathing and the rustling of the papers as he keeps signing. Eventually Tony reaches the end. He hands the file folder back to Pepper, and Pepper holds it in her hands like she has no idea what it is.

He holds her gaze. Layered on top of the tired is something strained, and his gut hardens a little in recognition. She had the same look the last time she tried to quit. 

Eventually she says, ”We need to talk about replacing Obadiah.”


End file.
